Mask of Insanity: A Trevor Phillips Fiction
by ThyDeviousViolet
Summary: Trevor Phillips arranges a meeting with the playable online character after the end of the game, in order to make some accusations, and it is an evening full of hilarity, mood swings, and (most certainly) the insanity that we've all come to love from our favorite psychopath.


**_Just a quick one-shot I've had in my files for a while, featuring the events of the online character with Trevor (obviously, in this case, mine features a female...during the online missions it became evident that Trevor was essentially coming onto her...even though he seems to act this way with every woman in the game). This takes place a little after the end of the game, assuming you chose Deathwish._**

 ** _This pretty much gave me an excuse to write Trevor the way I see him...in the future I'd love to write a long story featuring him, though I am not sure how I could find the time or inspiration for that? Perhaps I could continue from this one if I figured something out, though if I did, it would be quite a long time from now._**

 ** _Either way, please feel free to review and tell me what you think, good or bad._**

 ** _I'm experienced with fanfiction, but this is my first GTA story._**

* * *

Trevor Phillips was the master of grand entrances. Perhaps it was his flair for the dramatic, or his lack of conformity, or _maybe_ his propensity toward chaos and insanity.

Either way, he had effectively shoved his way into the upper class restaurant and had frightened everyone who came into contact with him. Once he felt he had made his presence known, and felt everyone respected him (or rather, feared him, but he seemed to confuse the difference) he sauntered with an uncomfortable grin that seemed to ooze a sort of filthy sexuality.

Suddenly, his eyes fell to his target: a young woman, who stared into his direction without any sense of amusement at his antics.

Trevor raised an eyebrow, licked his lips, and took the seat that was in front of her at their table. For a while, he glared into her, perhaps to look for some sense of fear, which did not seem to exist, and paused. A flicker of frustration seemed to light in his eyes, and suddenly, he grasped the open flame of the candle on the table with his fingertips until it went out.

"Fucking flame!" he yelled, and then realized his outburst was sudden. "Sorry…fire makes me nervous," he added with more control.

His female companion only nodded, and he swallowed hard to manage whatever emotions bubbled under the surface of his face.

"…Well, here you are gettin' all big on me, and you still haven't even had the decency to call! You think you're better than me now, girl, huh? You think you're _better!_? I helped make you who you are! We even did a heist together!"

She shrugged her shoulders. His eyes went wide, and he sat back against his seat before he crossed his arms.

"And you know what's even more weird? All this time and I ain't even heard your fuckin' voice! Why are you always looking at me with those dodgy eyes, all stoic-like? What is it…cat got your tongue… Broca's aphasia…anything?!"

"You always seemed to enjoy giving monologues. I apologize, actually… wasn't aware my silence bothered you," she replied with genuine regret, and smiled softy.

"You kinda got a deep voice for a woman; not all high pitched and pathetic like I thought it might be. Not a fucking cliché. I like it… it's rough, it's subtle…God damn, marry me woman," he growled, mood completely changed on a dime.

"Why'd you bring me here?" she asked quickly and as nonchalantly as possible, as a means to avoid his apparent affectionate praise.

"Is curiosity not a good enough reason? You're damn near kingpin of Los Santos, or should I say _'queenpin'_ , but _I_ knew you when you were just a wee little thug who wanted to make a name for herself," he suggested.

"Excuse my confusion, but you're telling me things that I'm aware of; you were very generous to put your faith in me then, and I won't forget your genuine kindness…" she led in.

"But?" Trevor urged impatiently.

"Mr. Phillips, authenticity is always much appreciated by me, especially since I've seen the corruption in this smoke and mirrors city. Do not misunderstand my appreciation. But, I'm not sure if I understand why you suggested we have dinner," she admitted.

"I…appreciate… your genuine words of thanks," he replied, eyes wide, as though polite words had altered his usually violent, unpredictable demeanor.

"You've evaded my question again," she murmured to remind him, and he seemed to take her slight reproach in strides.

"I'm a lonely, miserable fuck who needs a companion like you to boost my self worth and fuck my brains out when it suits me," he said, almost pathetically.

"What in your right mind makes you think we would be suitable companions? Please take no offense, but you don't even know me, Mr. Phillips," she began and he shook his head furiously.

"No, no, I _know_ you well enough. The way you address me with a respectable title shows me that you can respect even a man as scummy as me. I like your eyes too, they're intense, brown little fireballs that speak volumes even when you say little. I get a fuckin' _hard on_ at your passion and ambition…like gender role stereotypes don't even stand in your god damn way. I _like_ it all, need I say more?" he pressed, an intense glare that made one feel like their soul was laid bare on a table.

"Mr. Philips…I'm…at a loss for words," she struggled.

Trevor reached across the table, and caressed her face. For a moment she thought to shudder, as he usually had a rather foul odor, but today it seemed he had showered and used expensive cologne, even if it had been lathered on in excess.

"Call me Trevor, please…call me Trevor," he whispered like an urge, as he breathed heavily. Suddenly she reared back and glared at him, her temper seemed to snap, but she gathered her strength in order to proceed in a practiced manner.

"We are merely business acquaintances, do not misconstrue our professional relationship, which has now been over for quite some time…I can't expect to be overwhelmed in a rush of tender prose. I'm flawed, just like anyone else, and you don't even know me well enough to-" she urged, and tried to pull away, but he leaned in and pulled her closer.

"-No, I know all that too. I had to dig deep for it, but it's relevant. You were a college dropout before you came to this city, probably had that upper-class, I-want-to-be-exceptional affliction, thinking you were some Jay Norris. More like an average girl with a predisposition to arrogance and narcissism, but you hide it well," he started.

The woman pulled away again with a frown, narrowed her eyes, and assessed his features carefully before she leaned in to urge him forward.

"Mr. Phillips, I do not take kindly to insult, and I have done my _best_ to treat you with respect here. Watch your tactless tongue, or I'll have you nailed down in a hail of bullets right where you sit, if I don't shoot you first myself," she whispered.

Trevor narrowed his eyes in response, now intrigued, and leaned in so that their noses were almost touching.

"Mmhm…I can almost smell the musk wafting from you down there little girl…look at _you_ , eyes black and skin flushed…a normal physiological response to arousal," he taunted.

"I think you confuse arousal with rage," she replied quickly, and a wicked grin covered his face.

"Let me continue where I left off. Halfway through your junior year at college, you had a nervous breakdown for reasons unknown. Probably too much stress…my guess is your GPA dropped so low that all your precious scholarships were about to be ripped from under you. Not that you needed money when you had Mommy and Daddy…but what a slap to your fuckin' _pride_ with the disappointment that they blamed you for. You were placed in a hospital, but you never liked feeling incompetent, so once you dropped out of college and ran away from home, after a slew of fuck ups and disappointments, you did what any young fool would do any moved here to Los Santos."

"If you go any further I swear to the highest being that I will murder you where you sit."

"You don't even believe in your Christian God anymore? This city really has changed you…I don't think Mommy and Daddy would like that…" he continued to taunt, and she glared at him, before she took a deep breath and calmed down.

"Is there some specific reason you find this necessary to bring to my attention? All that you've said is true..." she remarked coolly, completely lost as to why he had taken such interest.

"See...I've been thinkin...you know?" he began, and soon his eyes began to dart back and forth deep in thought.

"Please, continue, I'm interested," she admitted, though she was not quite sure why she had suddenly found him so intensely interesting.

"I'm your common psychopath, right? Or, well...sometimes it's closer to sociopath tendencies," he began, and a giggle escaped his lips with a sort of wild hysteria.

"Unless you've been assessed by a professional, it probably isn't best to self-diagnose," she started in an optimistic fashion, but the two of them both knew she was simply in the middle of an attempt to soothe wherever it was that he decided to take the conversation next. Trevor was most certainly the farthest person either of them knew from sanity.

"Don't you fucking patronize me!" he yelled, and everyone suddenly turned to look at them.

"Lower your tone, dammit. I own this restaurant. Do not interfere in my business ventures with your moody attitude and uncontrollable behavior, " she spat, and he calmed down.

"My, my...you _are_ getting too big for your boots," he remarked laughably, and she brushed his comment off with her hand.

"What were you saying before, Mr. Phillips...about the state of your mental health?" she asked.

"See...I might be a psychopath, but at least I've got my reasons! Typical daddy abandonment, Mommy was rough on me, my life a whirlwind of crushed hopes and dreams, and I've turned to all this meth and speed to boost my lack of self-worth. I mean at least all these explain my issues! But you… _you_ …you're just crazy for no reason. At least I'm credible!" he accused, slowly at first as he made sense of his stream of consciousness, but then he became angry toward the end.

"What's your point, Trevor?" she asked curtly, and her usage of his first name on her own accord caused a hint of a sly smile to turn at the corner of his cracked lips.

"Nothing in your life has been negatively exceptional. You get simple pleasure from the misery of others for no specific reason. Hell, you're educated, even! You could have done great fucking things! And look at you now…pulling jobs with a tweaker from the desert, and murdering your way through Los Santos for shits and giggles..." he continued to accuse, and now laughed slightly at her expense.

"You're right...pulling jobs with you was the absolute low point in my career, and I'm so glad to have surpassed you in the criminal underworld. You know, if you didn't act so unpredictably and impulsive, you could have been a real success...but unfortunately I think you reached the peak of your career at only the beginning," she explained, almost sadly, and normally he would have been offended, but there was something in her tone that felt endearing to him.

"Un...unfortunately?" he asked, almost afraid of what could come out of her mouth, and suddenly she realized that most of all, he was just a little boy who wanted recognition, praise, and the need to be loved. It was such a slew of weak qualities that she wondered why he had not been defeated by them long ago in their line of work, as it did not allow for personal sentiment.

"You could have been great, I mean... you could have been a kingpin yourself, and sometimes I wonder why you even try at all to further your efforts when they're destined for failure. I think it's because you have no self worth," she remarked sadly in a whisper, and he stared at her with an expression that was so ambiguous she almost worried.

"...You're... right...UGH, you're so _right_!" he finally blubbered, tears in his eyes, and he banged his fist down on the table. "...No...fucking no!" he then added in a sniffle, as he composed and steeled himself in the middle of his breakdown.

"It's okay to cry...if you want...I won't pass judgement or anything," she added, but was visibly uncomfortable.

"No, no, I just got overwhelmed, you know? See, because you just read my fucking mind you perfect woman! ...I've been thinking...with my experience and brawn, paired with your intelligence and calm demeanor...I mean, we could be damn near unstoppable! Yeah?" he proposed in a frenzy of happiness.

"So, this has become a business proposition?" she asked, eyes wide, and completely overwhelmed by his ever-changing moods.

After all, Trevor Phillips no longer had anything to offer her, as she had all the experience she needed and more, and had even surpassed him long ago in the criminal world. It was almost sad that he did not understand it, but there was also something inside her that wanted so desperately to mold him into the capable criminal that she knew he could become, if only he learned to control himself. After all, long ago he held faith to give her the chance she needed, so who was she to refuse a favor that he so desired?

"Absolutely sugar tits!" he agreed, almost aggressively with his teeth bared in some sort of dominate smile.

"If I'm even to consider doing this with you, because it's certainly a risk for a woman of my standing in this city, I _refuse_ to tolerate the sort of sexual disrespect that you're so accustomed to using," she rebuked, and he stared down at his hands.

"You're right...again," he stated calmly, and suddenly looked into her eyes with a promise of redemption.

"I'm willing to do this partnership with you, but on a few conditions..." she warned, and was deep in thought.

"Which are?" he asked, intent on watching her think.

"First, I'm calling most of the shots at first. I can't have you messing up the empire I've started. Second, I'd appreciate it if you layed off most of the drugs...some occasional recreational use is acceptable, but you're far beyond that point, and I can't let you get sloppy with the business..." she began, and he nodded.

"I can probably do that," he admitted to himself with a nod. She assessed his features, still not fully convinced that this was a good decision, but felt such an odd sense of responsibility to him that she sighed in agreement.

"I suppose I'll...work out the rest of the details in a contract. You can debate the finer points with me at some time in the near future...I could come out to Sandy Shores," she suggested, and he frowned.

"Wouldn't you rather do it at your place? You've got one of those, cliche upper class apartments that costs you an arm and a leg...figured you'd wanna show off," he admitted with eyes wide and a shrug.

"If you go anywhere near that place, it would cause an uproar of confusion and fear that I'm sure the other residents would not appreciate. And, to be honest, I'm not quite sure I trust you well enough to know where I live," she admitted, with a suspicious, low tone in her voice.

"...you're paranoid...and you overthink...I like it," he admired, and suddenly gripped his hands to the side of the table as he lusted toward her.

"God dammit, Mr. Phillips, stop!" she almost yelled in annoyance at his sexual misconduct. Soon, he took his hands off the table, and cleared his throat.

"My apologies...I should get goin'...and I, uh...I appreciate your generous offer," he admitted, and his finally genuine expression of thanks very nearly touched her heart.

"We'll be in touch, Mr. Phillips. I'll email you details about our meeting later," she stated, and with a quick nod, he turned to walk away. After a moment, however, he turned with a whimsical look of curiosity on his face.

"You know...I've got some old friends who might appreciate coming out of retirement again..." he began, and looked at her deeply.

"If you're referring to Mr. Clinton and Mr. DeSanta, I'm afraid I have not yet acquired the strength to tame all of you at once. One at a time, please, ...perhaps someday," she admitted, and with a smile on his face, he strutted out of the restaurant.

As she finished her meal alone, she regrettably wondered what she had gotten herself into, but forced those thoughts away, and saved them for another day. Of course, if he should cross her suddenly or ruin her ventures, she would simply ruin him in return, and much more easily than he could ever ruin her.

After all, she _did_ run Los Santos.

* * *

 ** _Also, in the beginning, where he admits to being afraid of fire, was supposed to be an ironic nod to a certain ending that the player may choose in the game...if you know what I mean (if you don't, then don't worry, I won't spoil it)._**

 ** _Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought. It isn't very serious, but as I said, this was intended as a one shot._**


End file.
